My Casa, Your Casa
by IOnlyDrumNaked4U
Summary: Have you ever been home from a vacation to find some famous superstar who is claiming to have bought your house while you were on said vacation? No? Uhh, yeah that’s exactly what’s happening to me. E/B
1. Rockstar In My House

**A.N: Well hello there anonymous people who clicked this story and are or aren't reading what this says! This is not my first fan fiction. I suffered some writer's block for my previous story so I apologize for not writing it anymore. This one I WILL continue. I already had it all planned out. This is a new story so I hope the first chapter made a good impression.**

**Anyways, IOnlyDrumNaked4U presents the first chapter of LOVE IS ALL AROUND. **

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**BPOV**

"Get the fuck out of my house!"

"Your house? I bought this house!"

"Liar."

"Bitch."

"What are you still doing here? I told you to get the fuck out of my house."

"I'm telling you lady, I bought this house."

"No you didn't you bastard! This house still belongs to me."

"Not anymore! I own this house now."

"You don't have proof!"

"Uh, yes I do."

Ugh, friggin' annoying asshole! He's making everything go the hard way. I simply asked him to get out of my house but then, he starts insisting that he bought it. My house. Just because he's famous doesn't mean he could have anything he wants, when he wants. Well, no, no buddy. I wouldn't sell this house to anyone even if the person buying this house is the freaking president or a top selling music artist.

I was standing with my arms across my chest as I stared him down. I gave him the best death glare I could. And I gave very scary death glares. My eyes were full of angst and fury for him. I wanted him to get out of my house and run away to his manager and tell him that "Oooo, scawy bewwa scawed me that I decided to stop being such an asshole and leave hew alone," but instead, he smirked at me. He had this knee weakening, crooked smirk that just increased my fury up to Pluto.

_BOOM!_

I punched him. I _fucking_ punched him.

_Serves you right you ditch pig. Not so smug now are you?_

My dad who was the chief of police in this town taught me a couple of defense lessons. If anyone bothers me in any way, I should punch them directly in the face. That was Lesson One in Daddy Defense Camp.

The force exerted by the punch made him jerk backwards. I prayed silently for him to hit that glass table behind him but the gods of tragedy decided to disagree with me because his right foot stopped him from falling. Damn you gods of tragedy.

I could still hear the echo of the punch I made across the walls of the white house. That's when I realized that I had hit him pretty hard that it will cause a huge, monstrous, revolting bruise to form on the side of his perfect face.

_Good job Bella._

"You know I could sue you for that!" he threatened. If I didn't know better, I'd think the fame had gotten over his head. He already thinks that just because he's living the glamorous life in the fast lane, it means that he has the privilege to look down on normal, typical everyday people like me.

"Well go ahead then! And besides I have my right! You were trespassing private property!" I retorted back.

"THIS IS NOT YOUR PROPERTY!"

_Still playing with that excuse, are you rock star?_

Lesson Two of Daddy Defense Camp was to kick the specimen's anatomy when bothering level boosts up. My knee was angled upward to kick his package when he stopped the motion with his hand. He surprised me by pulling out a checkbook and a pen from the back pocket of his jeans.

"How much?" he said in this velvet voice that would have made me melt like ice cream on a sunny day only if he weren't such a jerk.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

"What do you mean how much?"

"I mean how much do you want me to pay you so that you could get out of MY property and leave me alone." He put air quotes on the "my" part.

"I DON'T WANT YOUR DAMN MONEY!"

"Listen Miss…"

"Swan."

"Yeah, fine, okay, Miss _Swan._ Why don't you stop being such a drama queen and take my money or just get out of MY house? If you don't leave sooner I will put a restraining order against you and possibly call the cops."

_Oh call the cops all right lover boy. They know I won't get myself in any trouble since MY dad was the chief of police. _

I stared directly into his eyes stating that I won't leave until he makes me. His green eyes were piercing that it almost hurt to look at them. I stood there, firmly and steadily while he put the check book back into his jeans.

He then proceeded to take my luggage into his strong arms and walking over to the door.

"What are you doing?" I asked hoping that he wasn't about to do what I didn't want him to do.

He opened up the front door and threw my luggage outside one by one. _Oh hell no._

Apparently he did do what I didn't want him to do. There I stood, mouth hanging open by his actions and I didn't know what to do. What I knew was that he couldn't throw me outside like my luggage. Or could he…

He walked over to where I was and threw an exasperated look at the open door motioning me to get out along with my baggage. I stood ground and refused to surrender to him. No way am I going to let him win this battle.

Without even knowing what was happening, the ground disappeared below my feet and everything was upside down. He threw me over his shoulder as I punched his back with all my might. I screamed and grunted as he carried me out.

When we were outside he turned me around that I was now being carried bridal style. I held onto his neck for dear life. His face inched closer and closer to mine that for I moment I thought he was going to kiss me. He stopped halfway and looked me straight in the eye.

"Get. Out. Of. My. House."

He said, punctuating every word in the sentence. I barely cared that it was MY house he was speaking about. I was scared. I was beyond scared. I was terrified.

He took a swing back and threw me in the air, just like my luggage. My bottom hit the grass with a loud thud and I felt an agonizing pain in my backside. He didn't even decide to be a gentleman to just carry me out to the grass and put me down slowly. Instead, the queer bagel decided to throw me out just like garbage.

I heard him shut the front door loudly as I was consumed by pain in my backside, my head, and my heart. I started crying there in the grass. I was loosing my house, the house that was one of the last remnants passed down to me by my parents who are now beyond any sort of contact.

Just my luck, it started raining down on me. I ignored the wet drips of rain and was preoccupied by the sweet comfort of sleep.

_Damn you, Edward Cullen. Damn you to hell._

Have you ever been home from a vacation to find some famous superstar who is claiming to have bought your house while you were on said vacation? No? Uhh, yeah that's exactly what's happening to me.

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—**3 hours ago—**

"How much is it?"

"Well from here to Forks it's about $105."

"How much?!" I asked, my voice rising higher by the shock of such a large amount for a taxi to travel from Seattle Airport to Forks. I should have taken the bus.

"One hundred five dollars," the driver said.

"Why so much? Can't you lower the price any way?"

I barely had that much money. And that was such a rip off just for a ride back home.

"The fee is $35 dollars per hour and it's a three hour travel from here to Forks. And no, sorry, I can't lower it. Unless you decide to let me drop you off a ten miles away which will lower it too only $95."

"Okay that's too much walking. How about two miles away?"

"Well, you seem pretty nice and kind so I guess I could just make it $100 to travel the whole way."

"I'll take it. Thanks…" I faded off trying to see his I.D. at the front of the cab. "Jacob."

"My pleasure."

After my little encounter with Jacob, I dozed off with my head resting against the door of the taxi. I was pretty tired from the flight. Hawaii was great and all but I missed home. Even though Forks annoyed me to the brink of madness because of it's horrid weather, I still miss it. I wanted to go back to my room and rest until my heart's content.

I miss Renesmee too. Renesmee was big. She was huge. She wasn't one of those houses that are off in the suburbs. She was like one of those houses in fairytales enclosed in the evergreen forest. She had a lot of space and I decorated her pretty well. I spent nearly all my life making every single detail of my house perfect to my satisfaction. I admit I did a fantastic job.

My house, which was named Renesmee was passed down to me by my parents. They both passed away due to a car accident. A dimwitted drunk driver by the name of James crashed into their car six years ago when I was still eighteen years old. James got arrested for drunk driving and is probably rotting away in a cell as I speak.

Luckily, I was eighteen when the accident happened. I didn't have to be put up for adoption, _thank God_, and I had inherited the house and the decent amount of money me and my parents worked together to get me to college.

Renesmee got her name from my mom, Renee and her best friend Esme whom I have never met before. Mom says that she moved to Los Angeles and married this music record dealer or something before I was born. Mom married dad, the chief of Police in this small town of Forks, and then ta-da! What happens when mom and dad do a little magic? Isabella Marie Swan is born.

My parents loved Renesmee. My mom bought the bought the house with her college money because she thought it was one of the most beautiful houses she has ever laid her eyes on and that she couldn't handle it if this house went into the hands of any other person. She said that this house could kick any of those houses' asses in "Cribs."

I grew up in Renesmee my whole life. Sometimes I felt like she was part of the family. _Haha, a house really? _But I had this weird connection with her ever since mom and dad died. I felt like they were still there. Not in a ghostly way but in a loving way. At the funeral, I promised them both that I will take care of Renesmee no matter what. That I won't let any harm come to her.

I know, I know. I'm treating the house like she's my freaking daughter! Next thing you know I'll have her bottom half covered in a diaper. I giggled at the thought.

"Miss…"

I heard Jacob's voice startling me away from my little daydream of Renesmee in a diaper and a big huge pacifier in her windows. I swear I'm going crazy because of the lack of sleep!

"Hmm…" I replied.

"We're here."

Those two words made me bolt out of the cab so quick that I forgot to give Jacob his pay.

"Thanks Jacob!" I said as I handed him the money.

"Sure, your welcome." He smiled at me. Even in the dark shadows of the cab, I could see his perfect gleaming white teeth sparkle.

I shut the door and headed down the steps to my door. Jacob's cab was still behind me. _OH well, why not?_

I wrote my phone number in a scrap piece of gum wrapper in my pocket and went back to the cab. He opened the passenger window and I handed the gum wrapper in. It took him a couple of moments to realize that there was something written in it instead of thinking that I was handing him my garbage.

He seemed nice didn't he? I mean, he wasn't one of those scary taxi drivers with pencil moustaches was he? He wasn't a creep. Why not?

"It's Bella by the way." I said as he closed the window. I waved him goodbye as his taxi drove away. I didn't feel any sort of regret inside me about giving him my number. I knew I made the right decision.

I proceeded down the path made of brown rocks and dirt with flowers neatly planted in the sides. I was carrying my luggage in both hands. Thank god I didn't pack a lot of stuff or else I'd be crawling to my front door.

Hmm…that's strange.

Someone was parked near my garage door. From the look of it, it looked like a silver Volvo. Was I supposed to have visitors? I'm sure it wasn't my high school buddies Alice and Jasper because they can't afford something expensive as a Volvo. They can barely afford anything for themselves. Oh dear I hope it's not the realtor trying to bribe me into selling my house. Again. No, it can't be the realtor either. They don't own fancy cars like these.

_Oh god…_

Maybe it was an intruder.

The thought of that made all my need for sleep disappear into tiny little fog smokes.

I slid my key inside the door knob and had my luggage at the ready, just in case. The front door opened to the interior of my living room. Nothing looked unusual except for the fact that there was a beige ski jacket draped over my couch. I'm sure I didn't own that jacket because it was about two to three sizes big and that because I didn't ski. I'm more on the non athletic side.

I slowly put my luggage down on the floor and dug in my satchel for my can of pepper spray. I unobtrusively went up the stairs, pepper spray at the ready when I heard the sound of a guitar playing in my music room.

_Shit._

The intruder was now messing with MY guitar. MY belongings.

I felt like I was in one of those mystery movies. You know those ones where some murderer is at your house and you have to hide away from him but he ends up holding you hostage.

_Double shit. _

I would prefer for the intruder to be a thief than a murderer. Better homeless than dead.

I slowly walked over to my music room and the music grew louder. That's when I heard singing. His voice made me understand the intruder was a male. A singing intruder? Everything is just weird now.

And the singing intruder did have a nice voice.

Now what was an intruder that had a lot of potential into becoming a famous musician doing in my room?

_Oh for Christ's sake, forget the sneaky act._

I opened the door with a loud crash making the intruder jump and stop singing and playing.

_No fucking way._

Okay am I being punked? Did I get into some sort of contest in Hawaii that I unknowingly won? Was I just dreaming?

Option one seems out of the selections because Ashton Kutcher wasn't jumping in my face and saying "You just got PUNKED!" Option two doesn't seem reasonable because I am positive I didn't enter some stupid contest like "Meet a rock star" sweepstakes. Unless I was drunk…option two is a maybe. Option three was a definite possibility because there was no way this is happening.

There he was. Live, in the flesh.

Holding my guitar in his hands. His long fingers still holding the strings. A look of shock and wonder in his hypnotically green eyes as he stared back at me. And his bronze hair in a sexy disarray at the top of his head.

Edward Anthony Cullen.

I think I may have swooned a little. I was a fan of him. Not in the obsessed way. Just a fan.

I may have died and have gone rising to heaven in a beautiful white dress with angels putting the spotlight on me singing Hallelujah by Handel.

I was rising up to the heavens joyfully and was in la la land until Edward opened his mouth and when I realized the reason why I was here in the first place.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?" He said, his eyebrows tight with confusion against his forehead.

I would swear I heard the sound of a record scratch in the back round.

"Umm…well, uh, Mr. Cullen, I, uh…" _God, stop stuttering and panting. _"I happen to um, live here. This is my house."

"Your house? This is my house."

"I apologize Mr. uh, Cullen, but I live here. This property is um, under my name."

"No you don't. I bought this house yesterday."

"Bought it? I'm afraid you might have been mistaken." I said with a chuckle at the end. I stopped stuttering and panting now. He bought my house? When? I mean, what?

"No I'm not mistaken. This is my house."

"No it isn't. It's mine."

"Yes it is. I bought it yesterday."

Let the argument begin.

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*******

I woke up on the moist grass. It was nighttime and the stars were shining brightly above me. My head hurts, my ass hurts, every part of me hurt. To think I lost my house. I lost Renesmee over some stupid conceited rock star. My eyes felt heavy because of the crying I had done earlier.

I broke my vow to my parents. I let some douche buy my house. And I didn't even know about it! Why did I even go to Hawaii? Why didn't I stay at my house? I felt the tears building up in my eyes again but I held them back as I saw the lights in the kitchen turn on. I knew he was watching me.

He probably thought I was some sort of homeless hobo that was going all crazy thinking that I owned his house. But this is my house. And I had no intention to break my vow to my parents. I bit back the tears that were threatening to fall out and was replaced by anger.

I was still on my yard. My luggage dispelled around me. I sat up and opened one that contained the picture of me and my parents. The frame had a massive crack on it. I started sobbing harder.

I saw the kitchen curtain open up a bit more and I caught a glimpse of him staring at me. For a moment he looked like he felt sympathy for me. No, I didn't want that. I wanted to prove to him that I was strong. That I wasn't some sort of pushover.

I wiped my tears away and I stood up from the ground and slowly collected my things. I stood up and attempted to walk to the door when my ankle started throbbing in pain as I fell to the grass. The bastard now disappeared from the kitchen window.

_Fucking selfish conceited rock star._

I cringed and gasped as I slowly massaged it. I heard the front door open and the ditch pig was now carrying a bag of ice. He went over to me and I gave him a scowl that usually made people back away from me. Instead, he approached me and put the bag of ice against my ankle.

I tried to move away from him but the ice felt so good against my ankles that I decided to keep still. I silently thanked him for the bag of ice as he stood up and went back to the door.

A couple of minutes later, he appeared with a wool blanket and covered me up with it. I sneezed and sniffed a couple of times before he put his hand against my forehead.

"Oh crap. You feel hot."

Cough, sneeze, sniff.

"We better get you inside." He said as he put an arm around my shoulder and my luggage in his other hand.

From the look of it, the bastard did have a heart.

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**Um…review? Please. I really appreciate them. Negative or positive.**

**Grassyass! (Gracias) **

**That means thank you.**

**~IOnlyDrumNaked4U**


	2. Miss Murder

**A.N: You guys are awesome! Thanks so much for the reviews. Sorry for the long one month delay, it's because finals are coming up so I had to study. Here goes the long author note…just skip it if you want.**

**To ARAbiAN bEAUty, it's just going to come and go. I'm not sure I'll be able to come up with a schedule to update and be able to stick to it, I procrastinate. A lot! To Deydream Believer, thank you so much for helping me out here! I really appreciate your help. And to Billy Bob Jo Jangles, thanks for the advice. I know my organization for the first chapter was confusing. I wanted to show what happened to Bella first and in the second half to why the house was so important to her. **

**Presenting Chapter 2: Miss Murder**

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**EPOV**

_Hmm, she's still there isn't she?_

I walked away from the kitchen window for the umpteenth time today and resumed eating my microwaveable mashed potatoes and steak on the kitchen counter. The food taste like crap but I couldn't care less.

I'm getting worried. She's been lying in the grass motionlessly for six hours straight. Crap, I hope I didn't kill her. Though I did throw her pretty hard.

Once I shut the front door after our horrible first encounter, I suddenly regretted kicking her out. More like throwing her out. First because she was unbelievably gorgeous for a normal folk who isn't in any way associated with the media and all I wanted to do was stare at her like a god damn creep. But then who knows? She could be a Victoria's Secret model. I wouldn't be surprised if that was her actual profession. With those curves, and mile long legs, she could easily make those other bombshells look like pigeons next to a flamingo.

Second, she might have been injured, or worse, killed. When I realized this undeniable fact, concern hit me as quick as a boulder on an avalanche. She could suffer from some kind of injury where her spine broke beyond repair. She could be in a coma right now explaining why she's laying motionless. She might suffer from amnesia. Her brain could have stopped functioning refusing to interact with her other internal organs such as her heart making it stop pumping blood throughout her body leading her to death. And it's all going to be my fault.

_Now you're just overreacting._

But it's still a definite possibility.

God, what the hell have I done? Couldn't I just carry her out gently and put her down on the grass like the gentleman I was raised to be?

_Yes, you could have just done that instead you idiot. Way to go Cullen, you just killed an innocent girl that just wanted you to explain why you're in her house._

But it isn't her house! I bought the house myself. Emmett suggested it.

_There you have it, you're officially a dickhead. You know how Emmett is. That asshole might have made some mistake during his search for your new house. Maybe this house does belong to her. Maybe those people were scamming you. Emmet's a brainless dimwit, that's why he overlooked this house does in fact belong to someone else . And so are you, you dumb ass rock star._

Hey! Don't insult Emmett! You were the one that told me to choose him as my manager in the first place. By the way, he also has a Master's degree in college so he isn't anywhere near dumb.

_Of what? D.D.A? Master Degree in the Dickhead Dimwits Arts? I'm sure both of you could have qualified for a Doctorate degree in that area._

Haha, very funny. You're killing me here dude. Way to make me laugh when I'm at a time like this. Notice my oozing sarcasm. And I'm positive I wasn't scammed. The insurance company surely took care of it. And those two people had the official papers signed by both them and the girl outside. I assume her name is "Isabella Marie Swan" since that was stated in the papers.

_You're such a moron, you know that? _

How?

_How could they have sold the house to you if she doesn't know about it? The rightful owner must have known her house was sold!_

Power of attorney, bitch!

_Either your right or she's a really good actor who wants you to see how much talent she has so you can make her a star. Option two seems more reasonable. I suggest you recommend her to Emmett now and I'm sure he'll be able to find her an agent and make her famous. I'm really starting believing this shit, it seems so real._

That's because it is real! How the fuck must she have found out I'm staying in her house?

_There's these things called internet and paparazzi you stupid ass._

Emmett already took care of that matter. Wait a second. You're my conscience, and consciences are all in your brain. So if you're calling me a stupid ass, aren't you calling _yourself _one too?

_Good point._

You just got owned!

_Shut the fuck up! You're the one thinking about this conversation in the first place. Hold on, look out the window. I sense movement._

I walked back to the kitchen window and opened up the curtain to find that my conscience was right. She's moving! She stirred just a little bit before opening up her eyes and staring at the night sky.

I felt immediate relief fill up my body as I realized I hadn't commit murder. Yet anyways.

I don't do drugs either. I don't smoke, and I never been in prison before unless I'm bailing Emmett out. I like to keep my record clean and be a good influence on the tweens and teens that listen to my music helping them see that you don't have to be a badass to be a rock star. That all you need to do is to believe in yourself.

_GAY!_

Be quiet and shut your mouse trap!

_You're such a daffodil dude! Man up. _

I said be quiet!

_What are you going to do if I don't? Write it in your diary?_

Go away and leave me the fuck alone!

_You know you can just make me. In your own words, "_You're my conscience, and consciences are all in your brain."_ Hmm?_

Go jump a bridge!

_If I do, then you'd jump too right? Besides I _am_ your conscience._

Shut up smartass!

_Pure ownage._

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

I focused on the sight outside my kitchen window. Her translucent, pale, white skin glowed in the darkness. Her brown, wavy locks were blowing against the chilly night breeze. Her brown eyes were surrounded by red crying marks. Put her in a princess dress and a crown then she'd look like Snow White after she ran away from the Evil Queen's castle into the forest, only she was more attractive.

She grabbed the nearest luggage in her reach and slowly opened it up. A few moments later, she started sobbing. I opened the kitchen curtain up more like I wanted to reach out to her and cuddle her in my arms.

Oh Christ, don't cry. Don't you fucking cry!

Girls crying were one of my weaknesses. I don't mean girls crying because their mascara got smeared in the rain but girls crying because of a _real_ reason. Not because of cosmetics.

I could scarcely hear her cries of despair as she tried to hold them back. I saw her look through her peripheral vision towards the window.

She knew I was watching her.

Poor girl. I felt sympathy for her. I was such a douche for throwing her out.

After that, she surprised me by her next act. She closed her suitcase and suddenly gathered all her belongings.

I desperately longed to shout out _"No, wait. Don't go. Stay for the night."_

She stood up, a little wobbly but she still stood up and held her ground like I saw her earlier. What surprised me even more was that instead of walking out, she approached the front door. The wind was blowing her hair behind her and her unbuttoned dark blue polo shirt moved with the wind revealing her white tank top underneath. One long leg after another, her hips swaying a bit and her eyes were fixed on the kitchen window. Regardless of the red rims around her eyes, she still looked like she was about to punch me hard in the face again like this afternoon. I could already hear "Eye of the Tiger" in the background as she walked towards the house.

Her seductive strut would have caused my little soldier to stand up and salute only if she didn't fall over. I closed the curtain quickly. I couldn't bare to see her hurt. It was my fault she had a sprained ankle in the first place.

I had to do everything I can to help her, probably repay her for this. With that, I got out a Ziplock bag from the drawer and some ice from the freezer. I put the ice in the bag and walked out to the yard finding her slowly massaging her ankle.

Before I got near ten feet from her, she growled at me. _Damn, that was sexy. And scary at the same time._

I held her feet steadily and pulled off her brown flip flops. I proceeded to put the bag of ice against her ankle. She attempted to get me off of her several times but I rejected. After a few seconds, I felt her relax a bit as she sighed deeply.

"Thanks," she said in such a tiny, angelic voice.

I quickly pulled off and she took over holding the bag of ice. I strode back to the house and advanced to my storage closet. I pulled out a thick, white wool blanket and ran back to her.

I wrapped her up in the blanket gently as she sneezed and coughed on me a couple of times.

Hey, I broke her ankle, so she has the advantage to get me sick.

Her nose was red and I just wanted to kiss it. But instead, I put a hand over her forehead and found out she was hot. Temperature wise. She must have been blazing 105 degrees or something.

"Oh crap. You feel hot," I said as she sneezed, coughed and sniffed a few more times, her nose turning redder and redder each time. She looked like that little cartoon girl in Kleenex commercials.

_Okay, maybe she wasn't acting at all. I apologize for saying that. _

Yeah, you better conscience.

"We better get you inside." I carried her luggage with one hand and I took the opportunity to touch her by putting my free arm over her shoulder rubbing it up and down for comfort and friction.

She kept stumbling and limping as I practically carried her towards the door and inside. I rested her on the couch and gathered up a whole bunch of other pillows to keep her feet elevated. The bag of ice remained against her ankle making the pillow wet with water.

She stared at me silently and I stared back, never breaking eye contact. To avoid the awkwardness, I went back to the kitchen and threw away my crap food into the garbage and decided to make her some hot chocolate.

Considering me cooking or making food usually ends up in disaster, I left it all to the hands of my beloved microwave. I put water in a large mug and poured some Nesquik hot chocolate onto it before putting it inside the microwave to be heated.

I heard the TV turn on in the living room as I was waiting for the hot chocolate. Wait, how'd she find the remote?

_It was, or is her house remember?_

Oh yeah, right. I was soon astonished to find out what she was watching.

'_Oh, who lives in a pineapple under the sea…'_

I could hear the _Spongebob Squarepants_ theme song blare through my television speakers. I quietly chuckled at the thought because Spongebob, I admit, was one of my favorite shows. It was one of the only good cartoons they show on television. Yes, yes, I know. I'm 25 years old and I still watch Spongebob which is a show intended for mainly children 4-10 years of age. The good cartoons from my childhood like_ Mickey Mouse_, or _Ed, Edd, and Eddy_ were now replaced with creepy shows like _Chowder_ and _Hannah Montana_.

The sound of the microwave beep distracted me from the good ole times and made me alert of the future. I pulled the mug out of the microwave and went back to the living room handing it to a cheerful faced Isabella Marie Swan.

It was the only time I had seen her look like that. The only expressions I saw her in were sad, mad, and murderous. How pathetic was that for a first impression. Not for her but for me.

I sat on the other chair as we laughed and giggled at Spongebob's horrific attempts to be a good neighbor to Squidward. When it was over, some show called _Fanboy and Chum Chum _was up next.

As if she could read my mind, Isabella turned the TV off and faced me sipping her hot chocolate slowly.

"I know we had a bad first impression on each other but I'm not who you think I am," I stated breaking the silence.

"So you're saying you're not a dumb, bastard-ish rock star whose fame has gotten over his head and treats everyday people like me just like scum?"

That sounded harsh and that cut me deep. That cut me deeper than the Mariana's trench. But after seeing my reaction, she giggled and assured me she was kidding. I thought of a comeback.

"And you're not some crazy bitch who goes punching people in the face and kicking them in the balls just so they could get out of her house?"

"I didn't kick you in the balls."

"No, but you were about to."

We both laughed at the craziness this afternoon. From how easily we were interacting now compared to our angry argument earlier that seemed out of the ordinary, I could already tell that we were both people stuck in some kind of "Fuck My Life" situation. When our laughter died down, she looked at me and began talking.

"Hey, listen. I know we weren't off to a good start but we can still try to make it up for it. I'm Isabella by the way, but I prefer being called Bella. Isabella just sounds like a name too old for my age."

"Oh, okay. I'll try. I'm Edward Cul…"

"I know who you are. Everybody in the world possibly does. You are Edward Cullen, top selling music artist. The "_it" boy_ in Hollywood. Every girl swoons by the mention of your name. And if your girl fans are in the same situation as me, where I'm seeing you live in the flesh and actually having a conversation with you, you would need to buy lots of tombstones and carve each of their names in each one because they would suffer from some awestruck syndrome and never wake up again thinking that their in heaven already by achieving their lifelong dream of seeing you."

_Oh I was about to get a tombstone alright thinking you were dead, _I thought.

I didn't know what to say. Even for a person that has a fever she had a mouthful! I just settled by trying to look cool and smooth by saying "Does that include you?"

"No…"

That answer disappointed me. It's not that I want to get a tombstone for her and carve her name in it but that she wasn't one of my fans that like my music.

"But I like your music," she finished.

I smiled at that sending her my "thank you." She nodded her head at me as if saying "you're welcome," and continued sipping her hot chocolate.

* * *

**BPOV**

"Oh and by the way, just because you were kind enough to get me this warm blanket and some hot chocolate doesn't mean I'm letting you off the hook. I still believe that I own this house no matter how much you insist it belongs to you."

I mentioned to him informatively. I was in a nice and smart ass mood tonight. I was still angry at Edward for throwing me out of the house but I was too tired and felt so shitty. I wanted nothing but to go and sleep on this couch. I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind but I still wanted him to give me answers, pronto.

Edward's smile slowly turned into a serious, business face.

"I didn't think so."

"And I have a couple questions to ask you. I want nothing but the truth from you. Also, I would prefer it if you answer with the simple yes or no."

"Okay, shoot."

It would have been so cool if I lead Edward toward my office, tied him up to a chair and pointed my study lamp while interrogating him but I was far too weak to do that. But I still wanted to. What question should I ask first though? I don't want to be too demanding and ask him directly who sold my house to him but I don't want to ask lame questions either considering the fact I could fall asleep any minute without recovering some sort of important information.

So I just settled with simple, but helpful questions.

"Since you say that you '_bought_' the house, did the furniture come along with it too?"

"Yes it did."

"Even the knick knacks, the decorations, the curtains, electronics and musical equipment?"

"Yes."

Even my Steinway piano. Whoever the fuck sold my house must have been desperate for money because I'm sure my furniture alone must have cost over 1,000,000 dollars. As I said, I spent my whole life making my house perfect.

"What about my car?" I asked. That question just popped up in my head at the moment. I loved my truck. My red Chevy truck was a gift for my 17th birthday from my dad. It may have been used and worn out but it had good potential. It helped me travel anywhere I want.

"You mean the red Chevy truck?" Edward had a look of disgust in his face. I was about to punch him again right there. I don't care how he has the fancy Volvo, my truck was awesome.

"Yes, the red Chevy truck."

"It's in the garage."

"Good, good." I took a deep breath of joy discovering my truck was still alive. "Did you buy it?"

"No, why would I buy that piece of crappy shi…"

He was silenced by the other death glare I gave him. Don't. Insult. My. Truck.

But then again, who would buy my truck anyways?

"Where are my clothes?"

I'm sure Edward didn't buy my clothes. Unless he went _that_ way or he was just a total creep who kept girl's clothes. Oh god, this man is too handsome and gifted to be gay.

"I don't know. But my manager, Emmett McCarty, told me something about a garage sale."

A GARAGE SALE? With my clothes? While I was on vacation?

Now that's low. That's just low even for a person who sells someone's house while they're on a holiday. He or she, or _it,_ must have been really desperate for money and some bucks.

God knows how much those clothes cost all together! I could probably even buy a new car with that amount of money.

I tried to keep myself in control by taking another sip of my hot chocolate.

I closed my eyes for a second and asked him the next question.

"How much did my house cost?"

"With or without the furniture?"

"Without. Just the house alone."

"Umm…are you sure you want to know? I don't want you to worry yourself. You need rest and sleep and I don't want you to carry this burden on your shoulders."

"Edward, just tell me how much."

"If you say so. It costs about 2,250,000 dollars."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

My breath began to hitch. My eye started to twitch. Whoever sold my house was just a plain, old bitch.

I felt all the blood go to my face turning my face scarlet red. Not because of blush, but because of fury. My body temperature must have gone up further than boiling point.

The bitch, bastard, motherfucking asshole who sold Renesmee must be _fucking _content of how much _fucking_ money they got. They were probably bathing in _fucking_ cash right now and sleeping in a _fucking_ pure gold bed.

My knuckles started to hold the mug of hot chocolate so tight causing it to break into pieces. Hot chocolate spread all over my white tank top. One of the glasses from the mug cut into my skin causing it to bleed. Some of the glass went discarded all over the floor. I really couldn't care. I was pissed, beyond pissed. I was furious.

Edward stood up directly from his seat and inspected my bleeding hand.

"Bella, are you okay?"

"DO YOU THINK I'M OKAY?" I shouted. Wasn't it bad enough that Edward was helping me when I was injured while I was being a bitch to him earlier? What's worse was that I was taking all my anger out on him.

"Calm down. Calm down," Edward cooed. He tried to soothe me but it wasn't working this time.

"WHO SOLD YOU MY HOUSE?"

"Bella, you need to relax. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

"NO I DON'T WANT TOMORROW! I WANT THE FUCKING ANSWER NOW!"

"Well I didn't really catch their names. All I knew was that there were two of them. One was a male and the other a female. The female was wearing these big huge gigantic Gucci glasses and a scarf. The male was wearing sport sunglasses and a Rangers baseball hat."

I gasped loudly.

Oh fuck…oh no they didn't.

I was angrier now if that's even possible. How DARE they?

My breath was coming out in deep, gorilla-like pants and my eye was twitching much more than before.

I'm going to kill them.

* * *

**So, any theories who the people who sold Bella's house are? Hmm, anybody, anybody? Well click that review button and tell me who you think.**

**Oh and the link to what Renesmee (Bella's house) looks like will be posted up in my profile. Check it out!  
**

**Thanks!**

**~IOnlyDrumNaked4U  
**


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